


the beginning & the end

by caesarions



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ancient Egypt, Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Angst, Babysitting, Cute Kids, F/F, Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, Other, Third Punic War, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 02:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15653640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesarions/pseuds/caesarions
Summary: Just because almost everyone in the Ancient Mediterranean wore kohl does not mean it could not be special to one person. Makeup can be a sign of the times or a symbol of one person's memories. Both representatives of Carthage remember their first and last interactions with kohl—for better or for worse.Written for Creators of Hetalia's prompt weekend, the chosen prompt being 'eyeliner'.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: the phoenicians are... A Lot, as a family. all you need to know for this drabble is that since the phoenician city of tyre founds the colony of carthage, azmelqart is anysus' father. however, since carthage's spot in north africa is quite far away from the levant, azmelqart either raises young anysus in phoenicia itself or leaves him in the care of etruria or ancient egypt. i've always chosen these two babysitters specifically because they complete the trio of carthage's cultural influences (a phoenician base, etruscan burial customs, egyptian religious customs; just as one example). and also because ancient greece would "forget" about him on a cliff
> 
> and technically, the term 'kohl' was formed much later "in Arabic from the Akkadian word for the cosmetic" according to wikipedia, but you already didn't ask for this much of an eyeliner history lesson. or maybe you did. if you did, i thank you.
> 
> NAMES:
> 
> ancient egypt - sekhet (one who is powerful)
> 
> ancient greece - helen (shining bright)
> 
> carthage - anysus barca (lost to history, lightning)
> 
> etruria - aranth repesuna (prince, lost to history)
> 
> tyre - azmelqart (melqart is powerful)

**750 BC, Bubastis, Lower Egypt**

* * *

 “Can I try?”

After the words squeaked out and reverberated against the sandstone walls, Anysus regretted it immediately; he clasped his hands over his mouth and his behind Sekhet’s vanity stool.

“Oh, has your other caretaker gotten into you?” After a century of babysitting Anysus, a blossoming colony who still remained a wallflower, she knew all of his hiding spots. The Egyptian reached behind her to cradle the little one’s head. “You would like to paint my face as Aranth paints his vases?”

With the maternal gesture, Anysus peeked his head out again. His topaz eyes were round as one of Helen’s owls'. “...No. I want to wear some myself.”

She coaxed Anysus the rest of the way out with gentle taps. Since his last visit, Anysus had grown even taller than her painted stool. “Oh, well, you are of that age. You would be wearing it already—from birth, even—if you were an Egyptian child.”

“I could be,” Anysus mumbled, hugging Sekhet’s arm. It was a prompt that meant he wanted to be picked up. Sekhet did so, turning it into a ride by _wheee_ ing with him, and placed the boy on her lap.

“I think your father would be a little upset with me,” Sekhet chuckled, even if it wasn’t far from reality already. That was on Azmelqart for leaving his son in the care of of others closer by. The Phoenicians had learned nothing from the Greeks because they disliked each other. Thus, they never talked. It was one of her Greek lover’s biggest faults. She would even ice out the child currently in front of Sekhet because of his heritage. Anysus being Sekhet’s ward would come up in their relationship eventually. “Although, your father wears kohl too.”

Facing Sekhet, Anysus grabbed fistful of linens with his baby hands. “Does he? He said our family just has nice lashes.”

“Yes, sailors need sun protection the most of all,” Sekhet explained one of the many uses of kohl. She lightly brushed her thumb over Anysus’ camel lashes. “That will be you someday, with your own little trade empire. And yes, your family does have fabulous eyelashes.”

“I dunno about that,” Anysus laughed nervously.

It was a little difficult to work around the boy, but Sekhet made do. She opened the kohl jar, gold and ivory carved in the shape of a baboon, once more. After taking a pinch of the powdered galena, she mixed it with animal fats with an ivory palette and stick to finally form the viscous makeup.

“I think I can skip your eyebrows and eyelashes for now. They don’t need much work,” Sekhet murmured comfortingly; Anysus was a bit jumpy, even under her fingertips. One step at a time. It already took her quite some patience to get the wings correct.

“Would you like the green, too?”

“It’s not purple,” Anysus pouted, “but would it compliment my eyes?”

The Egyptian nation laughed, as rich as cedar and honey. “It would, little one. And your bronze skin.”

Repeating the process with a fish-shaped jar of powdered malachite was a breeze for an immortal that did her makeup everyday. She only trusted her own hands. With Anysus comfortable and still, she applied a green line under the eye a little more easily.

“And, it’s finished.” Humming happily, Sekhet helped Anysus turn around on her lap to face the vanity mirror.

The little boy gave a larger than life gasp. “I love it!” He crawled forward and leaned on the wood to look at himself closer. Sekhet watched his desert sun eyes finally rise. “Thank you, Miss Kemet! I look good!”

“Of course, Anysus.” She swallowed heavily; Azmelqart was never around when his son’s face truly lit up like this. And then he had the nerve to ask if Anysus was slow, because his son hardly spoke around him.

Well, it was her job to give Anysus some self-confidence outside of his blood family. A true family.

“Ooh...”

Breaking out of her melancholy reverie, she realized Anysus was staring at her animal jars. Her full lips smiled again. “Oh, do you think they’re cute? Would you like a kohl jar of your very own?”

When Anysus nodded his head furiously, she smiled with teeth. “We can go to the market and ask one of the merchants to fashion one in the shape of an elephant. Like your little pet, Kbiir!” Well… big pet. And maybe not in ivory.

Gasping again, Anysus jumped out of her lap and dashed from the room. When the pitter-patter of his tiny feet faded down the hallway, Sekhet leaned an elbow on the golden vanity.

She still smiled at his childish wonder and excitability. To herself, she sighed, “...I didn’t mean right this second.”


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, the second half of my cohd prompt! i wanted to introduce anysus' twin sister really quickly. my nationverse operates under the assumption that there are two reps, male and female (details/relations vary by country), because i can cover more history and include more female characters that way! ayzebel represents the city of carthage while anysus represents the carthaginian empire, which is why he's much more ready to give up during the third punic war. but i won't go too much into detail here because i want to write a lot more third punic war/siege fics.
> 
> enjoy the last part of makeup history you didn't ask for ;-)
> 
> NAMES:
> 
> female carthage - ayzebel (lost to history)
> 
> female etruria - arria repesuna (both lost to history)
> 
> rome - lucius marius priscus romulus (shining; of mars or masculine; ancient; the mythical founder, 'mr. rome')

**146 BC, Carthage, Tunisia**

* * *

Staring in the vanity mirror, Ayzebel cried one more black tear, tainted by her kohl. Only one handful of long hair was still holding on. The rest had been neurotically hacked off with Anysus’ dagger. During the height of the siege, during what was likely the final days of their existence, Carthaginian women had been cutting off their hair to form rope for the crossbows and catapults. Because the Romans had cut them off from the North African hinterland, they lacked even basic supplies.

And anything her humans did, Ayzebel did, too.

She had already put off the inevitable for so long. Not for her femininity’s sake; her waist-length locks were a byproduct of something more important. Both of her childhood caretakers, Arria and Sekhet, had taught her different things about her hair. Two cultures' styles, diets to keep it healthy, and how to turn the frizzy waves into black silk. Ayzebel kept up with the routine because it made the important people in her life very happy.

But Ayzebel could only wait so long. When the Cothon wall fell, Anysus and Ayzebel’s residence would be ripe for the picking. The main street that all knew the Romans would use stretched from the sea up to the Temple of Eshmoun on the top of Byrsa Hill. It was flanked by six-story sandstone residences on all sides, including the Carthaginian twins' shared estate. Resistance forces were already set up in the roofs. Ayzebel would be up there if she was a man; Anysus would be if he wasn’t a corpse in waiting.

Perhaps she could be after this haircut. Bracing herself, Ayzebel made the final cut. She watched through watering, black-tinted eyes as the last length of frayed midnight hair sunk to the ground.

It was all over.

Looking in the mirror, Ayzebel had kohl streaks running down her face like otherworldly scratches. She hadn’t applied makeup in weeks, but she hadn’t washed her face, either. Kohl stuck around like good and bad memories in the mind. She refused to waste the olive oil on her silly appearance as her own people starved.

“You know, it doesn’t look that bad.”

She twisted around in her vanity stool. Anysus had appeared like a ghost, leaning against the door frame; losing weight and sleep, it was impossible to hear his footsteps anymore. Perhaps he wasn’t there at all, but Ayzebel didn’t think she was hallucinating yet. And if Anysus was, she politely ignored her brother’s episodes.

“That really isn’t my main concern,” Ayzebel huffed. Still, she returned to the mirror and adjusted the mess. Previously long and flowing, her hair had turned feathery and stuck out every which way around her jawline. If anything, it made her look more like an owl. “I hope it looks absolutely abhorrent, enough to repel Romulus once and for all.”

Both Carthages were too tired to continue talking across the room, so Ayzebel left her feminine niceties behind. Getting up from the vanity made her realize she had been holding her breath, stumbling forward and getting tangled in her own dead hair on the floor. Anysus grabbed her hand for support.

“I don’t know,” Anysus mumbled. “All of our hair is black. Now, even our weapons look like they’re in mourning.”

“Maybe _you_ are.” Ayzebel wrenched her hand free of her brother’s, who was only trying to help. She got on her hands and knees on the mosaic floor to collect the hair into one bundle. After working in a pregnant silence, Ayzebel tied it off with a leather cord that she had used to make herself up in pretty hairstyles.

“I wish there was more I could do,” Ayzebel swallowed heavily, placing her hair on the Phoenician cedar vanity. It was all she had left of the homeland—not that it mattered anymore. “I donated all of my jewelry already. When the men melted it down for weapons, I should have demanded they give me one, too. Can I donate my makeup, or any other of the silly little things I own?”

“Well, you look like you can’t see a damn thing right now.” Anysus, upon seeing her sunken and blackening eyes, tried to find a rag for her. He dipped the old linen into an amphora of warm water and approached Ayzebel’s face. “Maybe you can throw a pot of kohl at Romulus and blind him.”

There was no point in cleaning up, and Anysus should know that. She grabbed Anysus’ wrist and lowered the rag out of pure apathy. She wanted Romulus to see exactly what he had done to her, what he could do to others.

“And I would, too.”


End file.
